


Five Times Someone Was Admitted To Hospital and Once When They Were Happy About It

by Small_Hobbit



Series: The Unexpected Family [2]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Kid Fic, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-01
Updated: 2013-06-29
Packaged: 2017-12-10 03:30:02
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 7,691
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/781261
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Small_Hobbit/pseuds/Small_Hobbit
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Greg Lestrade is in a meeting when Sally Donovan rushes in with bad news.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The First Time

**Author's Note:**

> Very grateful thanks to my beta notluvulongtime for such a rapid turn around.

Greg was sitting in a departmental strategy meeting, idly doodling on his notepad and trying to look as if he was extremely interested in what the Chief Superintendant was saying when there was a knock on the door and Sally Donovan came in.

“I’m very sorry to interrupt,” she said, “but we’ve just had a phone call to say that DI Lestrade’s son has been taken to hospital.”

Greg was out of his seat before the Chief Super could say a word and hurtling through the door before anyone could manage more than the first few words of “hope things are all right -” 

He was feeling in his jacket pocket for his keys when Sally said, “It’s okay, sir, I’ll drive you there.”

“Thank you.  Are you sure you don’t mind?”

“You drove me to the hospital when my Nan had a stroke and I know how much that helped me, not having to concentrate on the traffic.  So of course I don’t mind.  And it will save you trying to park.”

As they drove Greg looked at his phone and the text message from Sherlock. 

<Nursery phoned. W not well. Going straight to hospital.> 

There was one missed call, after which Sherlock had obviously phoned the office number, knowing that there would be a reason for Greg not to answer, but that in this situation someone from his team would get the message to him as quickly as possible.

Greg thought back to the morning.  William had seemed a bit quieter than normal, but it was always hard to tell with him.  It could have been that he wasn’t feeling well; he could have been memorising the partial footprints that Sherlock currently had photos of on the kitchen cupboards or he could just have been a bit overwhelmed by all the attention Lucy was receiving.  Or indeed it could have been something of all three.  Greg didn’t know and his mind went over and over their morning routine as the gnawing anguish in his guts told him he should have noticed something.

As soon as they reached the hospital Greg leapt out of the car and waved to Sally.  He rushed into A&E and through force of habit, showed his warrant card at the admissions desk. 

“My son’s come in,” he gasped.

The nurse looked at his warrant card and glanced down the list.  She called over one of the care assistants.  “Could you take DI Lestrade to Bay 3 at once, please.”

Greg could feel the panic mounting; he expected he’d have to wait and not be rushed across to a bay immediately.

The assistant must have sensed his worry, because she smiled reassuringly.  “Your son should be fine in a few hours.  He’s not the one causing the problem.”

Greg breathed a sigh of relief.  And then his imagination promptly went into overdrive again with thoughts of what Sherlock would be doing.

It was obvious which one Bay 3 was.  It was the one with the apparent force field around it, with most of the staff skirting round it whilst one unfortunate junior doctor was trapped within it, losing an argument and probably the will to live.  Greg thanked the care assistant and strode into the curtained off bay.

Years of attending crime scenes had enabled him to sum up a situation rapidly and it was now second nature to him. 

“Sherlock, I need a coffee.  Go and find me some.  Now!” he added as Sherlock started to protest.

He smiled at William, who was lying on a bed, looking pale, but not as bad as he had feared.  “How’s my beautiful boy?” he said taking his son’s small hand in his own.

Finally he turned to the doctor.  “What do I need to know?”

By the time Sherlock returned with the coffee, Greg had learnt that William had had a high temperature and some difficulty in breathing.  He was currently being monitored and the treatment that had already been administered had started to take effect, so there was no reason why he wouldn’t be able to go home in a few hours.  As yet they weren’t sure what had caused the initial problems.  Greg had arrived at the point at which Sherlock was demanding that various tests be conducted, which he would oversee, whilst the doctor had been trying to explain why this was not possible.

The doctor went to deal with some of the other patients, leaving Greg and Sherlock alone with William.

“I don’t see what the problem is,” Sherlock moaned.  “William would be quite happy to let me experiment.  I can explain to him what’s happening and show him the results.  He’s really getting to grips with the idea of graphs now.  And he’s so much more amenable than Lucy would be.”

They looked at each other in horror.  “Lucy!”

Greg looked at his watch.  “Someone should have collected her ages ago.”

Instinctively they both checked their phones, each finding a message from John Watson. 

<Lucy with me. Assume some sort of problem.>

For the second time that afternoon Greg let out a massive sigh of relief.  “I’ll go and phone him.  Let him know what’s happening.  Do not, I repeat not, do anything other than sit with our son.”  Greg stood up and then said “William, Daddy is just going to phone Uncle John.  While I’m away Papa is not to start any experiments.  Do you understand?”

William gave a small smile and Greg was relieved to see that the medication was starting to have an effect.

Lucy had been so excited that morning, for she was going to ‘big school’ for the day.  There had been much discussion as to where she should be educated following nursery.  Greg had been keen for her to go to the local primary school, Mycroft had recommended various suitable private schools and Sherlock had said that what mattered was that she be taught to think rather than be force fed irrelevant facts.  They had reached an impasse until Sherlock’s mother had pointed out that whilst Lucy would thrive wherever she went, it would be harder finding somewhere that was suitable for William - that perhaps it would be a better idea to choose a place where they would both be happy.

So after dropping William off at nursery, Greg and Sherlock had taken Lucy to her new school and had promised her that they would collect her that afternoon when she could tell them all about her day.  Which they had singularly failed to do.

Greg found a quiet corner outside and phoned John. 

He answered immediately.  “Hi! What’s happened?”

“William’s been admitted to hospital.”

“Oh no!  How is he?”

“Okay.  He should be discharged in a couple of hours.  How’s Lucy?”

“She’s fine.  Her new school phoned me when no-one came to collect her.  Apparently she turned to her new teacher and said ‘They’ve forgotten me again.  You’d better phone Uncle John.’”

Greg groaned.

“Don’t worry about it,” John continued.  “This school is less than five minutes walk away, so it’s even easier than the nursery.  Look, take whatever time you need.  We’ll give her some tea and you can pick her up when you’re ready.”

Greg returned to the bay and relayed the conversation to Sherlock.  A number of nurses came in over time to take William’s observations.  He was clearly improving and began to ask Sherlock what they had found and what the results meant.  It was when William suggested that perhaps they could look at the results of some of the other patients that Greg started to hope that he would be discharged soon, before Sherlock thought it a good idea and he was forced to keep the pair of them in one place.  Fortunately a doctor came in and told them they could go home, giving them a letter to take to their GP the following day.

They hailed a cab outside the hospital and Greg took out his phone to text John, but saw that he’d beaten him to it. 

<Let me know when you leave the hospital and I’ll drop Lucy back>

Much later, when both children were in bed and sleeping peacefully, Greg said good night to Sherlock and went to bed himself.  He pulled the covers over his head and let his mind play back the events of the day.  After a while Sherlock joined him.

“You’re not asleep.  I’m surprised; even I’m tired tonight.”

Greg remained silent.

“Ah, you’re thinking.  And being illogical.”

“Sherlock, don’t you understand?  I’ve always wanted a family and there hasn’t been a day since we first brought Lucy home that I haven’t been overjoyed to be part of one and yet today I failed both of them.”

“Firstly, the doctor said that William’s rise in temperature would probably have happened quickly, so there was no reason that we would have known he was ill in the morning.”

“But I forgot about Lucy.”

“You didn’t forget her.  You dealt with the more important matter first.  And she knew exactly what to do when you weren’t there, because you had taught her well.”

“So you don’t think I’m a totally rubbish father?”

“No, but I do think you will be totally rubbish tomorrow morning if you don’t get some sleep now.  And if it’s any consolation, by the time I got William to the hospital I had already ruled out several exotic diseases that I wouldn’t have even considered had he been anybody else’s child.”


	2. The Second Time

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock receives a phone call in the early hours of the morning and has to wake Lucy, now 8, and William, 7.

Sherlock was woken by his phone ringing.  His first thought was that it was early, since there was no sound of William moving -- and his boy was usually up at 6 o’clock; his second thought was that it was urgent, because whilst Greg might text in the early hours of the morning -- generally saying something like ‘L’s reading book is under the settee’ -- he never rang at that time.  He grabbed his phone.

“Holmes.”

“This is Sister Williams from St Thomas’.  DI Lestrade has been brought in following an attack.  His situation is not critical, but he will be going in for surgery soon and would like to see you before he does.”

Sherlock barely waited long enough to receive instructions of where to go, never mind hanging up.  He hurtled upstairs, calling to the two children.  Lucy was out of her room first.

“We have to go out _now_.  Get your shoes on!”

She ran back into her room and grabbed her favourite jumper, a present from Uncle John, with what Auntie Anthea described as ‘migraine inducing stripes,’ and shoved her feet in her shoes.

Meanwhile, Sherlock had gone into William’s bedroom.  Although an early riser, until the point at which he woke, William slept deeply, so Sherlock had to lift him out of bed and pull a hooded jumper over his head.  Once awake, he ran to the front door and went to put his school shoes on.

“Not those,” Lucy picked up William’s trainers.  “Wear these; the Velcro will be easier than laces.”

Sherlock had somehow managed to get dressed and the three of them left the flat and headed outside.  Sherlock hailed a taxi and gave the destination as the two children climbed inside.

As he took his seat, both of them looked expectantly at him. 

“Daddy’s been hurt and taken to hospital.  He’s going to be all right, but he needs to have an operation, so we’re going to see him before he goes into theatre.”

Lucy looked puzzled.  “We went to the theatre to see _The Lion King_.  Why’s Daddy going to the theatre?”

“It’s called an operating theatre.”

Sherlock tried to keep the worry out of his voice.  Any operation following an attack had to be serious and without knowing how Greg had been injured, he couldn’t judge the severity, which concerned him.  Greg had repeatedly told him that the children picked up on his moods.  And whilst he was inclined to ignore this fact, he had no wish to upset them.  He hoped they would stay quiet, as he was certain he would snap at them if they spoke.

Lucy piped up, “William’s got his jumper on back to front.”

“What?  Does it really matter?”

She pointed at the hood that was underneath her brother’s chin.

Sherlock gave a wry grin.  “Okay.  William, let’s sort you out.”

Once at the hospital, Sherlock practically cleared the corridor as he swept down it with a child clutching either hand. 

There was a nurse outside his husband’s room, who looked doubtfully at the children and said, “I’m not sure it’s suitable ..”

“They’ll be fine,” he said as he marched in.

“What happened?” he barked at Greg.

“There was a call out.  We got in between two of the group and their exit.”

“Damage?”

“Knife wound to the leg.  It bled.  A lot.”

Whilst Sherlock stood still, processing all the information, the children cautiously approached their daddy. 

“Does it hurt?”  Lucy asked.

Greg nodded.

“Do you want me to kiss it better?”

“Not at the moment, darling; it’s all bandaged up.”

“Maybe later?” William asked.

“Maybe.”

There was a knock on the door and the nurse and a porter came in.

“But for now,” Greg added, “A kiss on the cheek will help me feel better.”

The two children gave him a kiss, and then Sherlock, having squeezed his hand, led them out of the room.

They were standing at the nurses’ station, waiting while Sherlock talked to one of the nurses, when they heard the sound of high heels coming down the corridor.

“Auntie Anthea,” William squealed.

The system of support around their little family was such that Mycroft Holmes only needed to receive a text from his brother saying <Lestrade at St Thomas’ Hospital> to know that whilst his own presence wasn’t necessary, there was a need for someone to collect the children.  Accordingly, Anthea had been dispatched with instructions to do whatever was required and report back once she had done it.

She looked at Sherlock, who nodded, and the two children found themselves leaving the hospital post haste.

“We’ve just got time for you to go home, have breakfast and get dressed for school,” she said.

Lucy started to protest and William looked mutinous.

“I’ll explain to your teachers what has happened and I’m sure you’ll be allowed to make ‘get well soon’ cards for Daddy.”

She made a show of checking the time on her phone.  “I’m sorry, children, but I don’t think there’s going to be time for you to walk to school today.  We’ll just have to take the car.”

“All the way to the main gates?”  William was being won over.

“All the way to the gates.”

“In which case, I suppose it will be okay,” Lucy graciously admitted defeat.

***

Sherlock remained at the hospital whilst Greg had his operation, so was there for him when he woke up.  He stayed with him until the nurse chased him away insisting that DI Lestrade needed to rest and he would be welcome to return once it was visiting time.

John Watson picked the children up from school and took them into the hospital later.  They arrived bearing their cards, a large bunch of grapes (only slightly eaten) and a small blue teddy with a bright bow round its neck.  (He had felt totally powerless to resist two small children saying ‘that’s just what Daddy would like.’)  He also had a bag with clothing suitable for Greg to wear when he went home, having surmised, correctly, that Sherlock would have brought a work shirt and trousers, rather than t-shirt and jogging bottoms. 

***

The following afternoon, when Sherlock went to pick the children up from school, he didn’t need to say anything when he greeted them; his smile said it all.

“Daddy’s home!”

“He is.  But he’s not fully recovered yet, so we have to be extra careful with him.  No bouncing on top of him until he says it’s okay.”

Arriving home, they burst in through the front door and rushed up to Greg before stopping a foot away from him.

“Aren’t you going to give me a hug?”

“Papa said ...”

“Papa said you have to be careful, not that you can’t touch him,” Sherlock said.

Lucy and William climbed onto the sofa, one on either side of Greg, who put his arms round them.

“The doctors have told me that it’s unlikely that my leg will fully recover,” Greg began, “Which means that I won’t be able to do all the things I did before.

“Will you still go to work?” Lucy asked.

“Yes, but from now on I shall be in the office most of the time.”  Greg looked apologetically at Sherlock.

“If it means you’ll stay safe, I have no problem with that.”

“It will also make it much harder to play football with you, Will.”

“But you’ll still be able to help me fly my kite, won’t you?” he asked.

“Oh yes, and we can go to the park, although we may have to walk slightly slower.”

“That’s all right then.  We’ll have more time to look at things on the way.”

“And I won’t be able to rescue you if you climb a tree and get stuck.”

Lucy looked disdainfully at him.  “The last person to get stuck up a tree was Papa, and you told him that it was his own fault for going up there.”

“And then you took a photo on your phone,” William chimed in, “and said you were going to send it to Uncle Mycroft.”

“One small miscalculation and you never hear the end of it,” Sherlock moaned, before employing diversionary tactics.  “I thought we’d have pizza tonight to celebrate Daddy coming home.  Which toppings shall we have?”

The usual arguments as to which  were best then ensued, but were soon silenced when Greg said that if they could agree quickly then they could also choose one flavour of ice cream each.

***

A few weeks later, Greg and Sherlock were walking slowly through the park.  Greg, much to his annoyance, was still using a walking stick, although no one else seemed bothered by it.  Lucy came racing back to them on her scooter.

“We’ve found the perfect bench for you.  I’ve left William lying on it, so no one else sits there first.”

When they reached the seat, Greg sat down, whilst Sherlock took Lucy to go and buy ice creams.  William hopped off the bench and went to see which creepy crawlies he could find hiding under the leaves nearby.

Later, as they were walking back home, Greg said to Sherlock, “I thought the children would complain that I’m not able to do as much now as before, but they don’t seem to mind at all.”

“That’s because they’re our children, and they know that one physical attribute doesn’t define a person.”  Sherlock ignored Greg’s snort.  “And additional ice cream probably helps as well.”

 


	3. La Troisième Fois

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lucy, now 12, is on a school trip to France, when Sherlock gets a phone call in the early hours of the morning.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> With very many thanks for my wonderful beta notluvulongtime.

Greg awoke to hear Sherlock speaking on his phone.  To be precise, he was speaking French on his phone.  He wasn’t left wondering why for long.

“Lucy’s broken her arm.  She’s okay otherwise, but I’m not leaving her there with that imbecile of a French teacher.  We need to go.”

Greg rushed upstairs to wake William and then returned to get dressed.  Meanwhile Sherlock’s fingers flew over his laptop as he booked their tickets.

“We’re going by Eurostar, it’ll be quicker than flying.  I’ve booked us on the first train; it leaves at 5.40.”

“Right, who are we dropping William off on?”

“He’s coming with us.  I’ve booked three seats.”

“Okay.”  Then Greg called out.  “William, bring some books with you!”

Within ten minutes they were all dressed and leaving the flat, Greg having collected their passports from the desk drawer.  Sherlock unerringly found a taxi and they were heading for St Pancras Station. 

As they sat in the taxi Greg wished, not for the first time, that he could process information as fast as Sherlock did.  His brain circled between ‘Lucy is hurt’, ‘But she’s okay – Sherlock’s determined, not panicked’ and ‘We’re going to France’ with the occasional interjection of ‘I need some coffee.’

It wasn’t until they were on the train, suitably fortified by coffee (Greg), fruit juice (William), water (Sherlock – although he still refused to eat during a case, he had finally conceded the need to stay hydrated) and various pastries, that Sherlock filled Greg in on the details.

Lucy was on a trip to France with her school.  She had been fully prepared by her parents.  Greg had repeated all the instructions he had ever given her about living in an unfamiliar city and, with Anthea’s assistance, had confirmed that she was able to make a journey across London without difficulty.  Sherlock’s contribution was to take them all to a seaside village in Brittany for two weeks to ensure that her French was sufficient for all the basic situations she would face.

Sherlock outlined what he had established from various French news websites, as well as some sources Greg suspected was better he knew nothing about.  There had been an armed robbery at a high class jewellery store in Paris at around midnight.  From what Sherlock could deduce, the police had had a tip off and were waiting for the robbers to get clear of the store before moving in and arresting them.  Unfortunately, just as the drama was about to begin, a group of English school children and their teachers, who had become lost in the back streets whilst looking for their coach, walked onto the scene and chaos had ensued.  There had been some injuries, but Sherlock had been unable to find out any further details.

Greg had turned white.  “Has Lucy been shot?”

“No.  The doctor I spoke to assured me that it was a straightforward break, the sort they regularly see with girls of that age when they fall off their bikes or their ponies.”

“Poor little girl, she must have been very upset for the doctor to phone.”

“Not so much upset as insistent.  She has a certain tenacity when she wants something.”

Greg smiled wryly, having witnessed that very characteristic on several occasions.  “Right; she’s as okay as she could be, given the circumstances.  So why are you insisting on the rush to Paris?  That would normally be my role.”

“Because she should never have been in that square and I am not leaving her in the company of the man responsible any longer than is absolutely necessary.”

Greg dozed for the rest of the journey, whilst Sherlock and William alternated playing chess on William’s tablet with making deductions about their fellow passengers.  Once at the Gare du Nord they took a taxi to the hospital.

From there they went to the main desk and Sherlock enquired about the whereabouts of his daughter, one, he clearly stated, of the English school children who had been caught up in the police operation.

“A quel nom?”

“Lucy Holmes-Lestrade.”

“Ah. Un moment, s’il vous plait.”  The receptionist dialled a number and spoke to whoever answered.

Greg couldn’t follow the rapid speech and would have felt alarmed had not both Sherlock and William, who were listening intently, remained calm.

A minute later, a man came down and introduced himself as Commandant Dubois.  He led the way through various corridors and explained that they would like to interview Lucy once she had been re-united with her parents.   They had established that she would be a useful witness from what she had told the ‘gardien de la paix’ who had accompanied her to the hospital.  However they were unable to interview her formally without an adult present, and since she flatly refused to have any of the teachers with her, the police had decided to wait for her parents’ arrival.

Greg and Sherlock were shown into a room and Lucy, sporting a bright orange plaster cast on her lower arm, charged across to greet them.  There were hugs and everyone spoke at once.

“What happened?”

“I want to be the first to sign your cast.”

“I’ve learnt loads more French now.  This is a plâtre.”

And then Lucy added “Don’t cry, Daddy, I’m fine.”

Whilst they stood huddled together, a man in a sports jacket came over and said, “We realise that this must have been a shock, but there was no need for you to come all this way.  We have taken every care of Lucy ...”

He got no further because Sherlock was glaring at him.  “Your incompetence has led to a completely unnecessary injury to my daughter and you now have the temerity to say that every care has been taken.”  Turning to his husband he said “I realise that punching him in the nose would be one way of expressing your feelings, but I do not think it would be a good idea.”

Greg subsided, but continued to bristle. 

Fortunately, at that moment, a doctor came over and said, “I understand that the police wish to speak to your daughter.  After that she is free to go.  Please give these notes to your own doctor, who can arrange for further care.  And please be aware that whilst she seems fine at the moment, she will soon start to feel tired and may be emotional.”

They thanked the doctor and joined Commandant Dubois who was waiting for them in the doorway.  His expression showed that he, too, had very little patience for the teacher.  “If you would come this way.”

“Do you want to go with Lucy for the interview and I’ll stay with William?” Greg asked Sherlock.

“No, you go with her.  She can tell me all about it later.  For the moment you’ll be the one she wants.”


	4. Sherlock's Turn

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This time it was Sherlock who was occupying the hospital bed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Once again thanks to my beta notluvulongtime, because I can never thank her enough.

Greg, Lucy and William were all sitting in the hospital corridor. Lucy, now 16, was holding one of Greg’s hands firmly in her own, whilst using the other hand to text her boyfriend.  She had been due to go out to a concert with him and his parents that evening, so was in the midst of telling him what had happened.  William, nearly 15, believed himself too old to hold his father’s hand, but Greg was aware that he had pressed his body as close as possible and was not fooled by the show of teenage independence.  Greg himself was wondering why, given all the advances in medicine, and for the benefit of anxious friends and relatives, no one had yet invented a chair that was at least a step up from totally uncomfortable.  It wasn’t as if anyone would loiter more than absolutely necessary just because they liked the chair.

A nurse appeared from the small side ward.  “You can come in now.”

Sherlock was lying in the bed, very pale, bandaged and with a drip in his arm.  But he was conscious and acknowledged their presence with a slight smile.

There was one chair available and Lucy moved it to the bedside for Greg to sit in.  Then her phone pinged and she smiled as she saw that it was a reply from her boyfriend.  The smile turned to anger as she read what he had written, and she almost threw the phone across the room.

“Let me see!” William held out his hand.  He read the text, frowned, and then sent a brief reply.  He returned the phone to his sister.

Meanwhile, Greg had taken Sherlock’s hand and was mentally assessing the state of his injuries.

“How did it happen?”

“It was unfortunate.  Who told you?”

“Hopkins.  He was very upset when he phoned.  He was even more upset when I’d finished telling him what I thought of him.”

“It wasn’t his fault.  I’d gone to look at a possible site.  No one expected part of the gang would be there waiting for me.”

“You should have taken someone with you.”  Greg’s voice was rising; his concern for Sherlock’s safety overruling the fact that in similar circumstances he would have acted as Hopkins had.

“Please don’t argue now,” Lucy said and burst into tears.

Greg looked at the clock.  “Oh sweetheart, don’t cry.  You should be going to your concert.  Now that you know Papa is going to be all right, I’ll take you down and get you a taxi.”

“I’m not going.”

“What?”  He looked across at his husband.  “Say something.”

“Lucy, they’re keeping me in overnight,” Sherlock said.  “But there’s no reason to think that I won’t be coming home tomorrow.  So go and enjoy your concert.  We know how much you’ve been looking forward to it.”

“She’s not going.”

Everyone turned towards William.  Lucy gave her brother a small smile to thank him for his support.  Greg looked confused and turned back to Sherlock, hoping to find some explanation there.

“Dad, up to now you’ve always thought Inspector Hopkins a good policeman,” William added.  “So why don’t you let Papa tell us what happened before you decide otherwise.”

“But, Lucy ...”

“Lucy can explain later, when she’s ready.”

“I went to look at a possible location for where the transaction had been made,” Sherlock began.  “There was no reason why anyone else should have been there and no one knew I was going.  So Hopkins and I had agreed I’d go by myself, because it would be less obvious.  Except ...”

“Someone else _did_ know.”

“Quite.  And I rather imagine Hopkins is finding out who knew and what they did with the information.”

“They jumped you?”

“Yes.  In the scuffle, I was pushed down a flight of steps.  Which ironically went in my favour.  The alley at the top was very quiet; the road at the bottom of the steps was considerably busier.  So when I rolled down the steps, a passerby called for an ambulance.”

“Even so,” Greg was clearly not fully pacified, but saw no point in continuing the argument at that moment. 

His phone pinged with an incoming text.  He read it out loud, “It’s from Hopkins.  He says, ‘please tell Mr Holmes that the fruit bowl is now acceptable again.’”

Sherlock nodded. 

Greg looked puzzled, so William explained, “The inspector has found the rotten apple.”

The nurse came back in.  “You need to be leaving now, so Mr Holmes can get some rest.” 

Sherlock snorted. 

“I’ll give you five more minutes and then I’ll be back.”

Lucy and William kissed Sherlock good-bye and left to allow the two men a few minutes together.  When Greg came out, Lucy again took his hand and the three of them walked down the corridor side by side.  They drove home in silence, each wrapped up in their own thoughts. 

Once back home William departed to his bedroom, saying he was going to play chess online.  Greg reminded him, as he did every night, that there was school tomorrow and he shouldn’t play for too long, and William answered with the inevitable “Yeah, yeah, whatever.”

Greg made two mugs of coffee and took them into the sitting room.  He passed one to Lucy. “If you want to tell me about it, I’m happy to listen, but if not, that’s okay.”

Lucy drank some of her coffee before turning towards Greg.  He wanted nothing more than to throw his arms around her and protect her from the world, but knew that it was impossible.

“I sent Jake a text to tell him Papa had been taken to hospital,” she began, “and that I’d let him know what the situation was.  He replied saying that he knew neither Papa nor you liked him and accused Papa of pretending to be ill just so that I wouldn’t go to the concert.  I couldn’t believe it.  Papa has to be practically unconscious for anyone to get him to hospital, so of course he wasn’t faking.  And if he’d not wanted me to go to the concert, he would have said so.  Well, I know neither of you were really happy about it, but you would never stoop to doing something like that.”

Greg nodded and Lucy moved to sit next to him on the settee.  Cautiously he put his arm around her and she rested her head on his chest.

“That was the last I heard from him.  I can’t believe I’ve been seeing someone who thought so little of me and my family.  And I liked his parents and they probably think I’m totally awful now.”

“I’ll email his parents tomorrow and explain that Papa had had a serious accident and you were very upset.  If they don’t like it, then it’s their problem, not yours.  Did you send Jake a reply at all?”

“William did.  I thought perhaps he’d been rude and that’s why I hadn’t heard anything else, but I checked my phone when we were on the way home, and all he’d said was, ‘That is totally inappropriate. William.’”

Greg hugged his daughter.  “I’m sorry this had to happen, love.”

“Me too.”  Lucy gave him a watery smile.

“How about I make us some cheese on toast and we find something slushy to watch?”

“Sounds good to me.”


	5. And Then It Became Serious

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock is alone in the relatives' room in the hospital, waiting for news.

Sherlock sat in the room set aside for family with a seriously ill relative, where they could be shielded from all disturbances until such time as a medical professional could come to bring them news.  He was alone and, without any external stimulation, forced to listen to his own grim thoughts.  To an outsider, he would have looked extremely focused and totally in control.  To the few who knew him well, there were small signs -- a very slight tremor in his hand, a miniscule movement of his shoulder -- which showed how agitated he was.

The door opened and he looked up. 

Greg came in, carrying two plastic cups.  “I brought you some tea.  I know you said you didn’t want anything, but it might help.”

Sherlock took one of them and wrapped his hands around it, sipping the hot liquid.  The two men sat in silence, each immersed in their own thoughts.  Occasionally Greg would look at the clock and try to reassure himself with “no news is good news,” but he knew he didn’t believe any of it.

Eventually, they heard brisk footsteps, presumably from a nurse, come down the corridor and stop at the door.  They looked up, both dreading and hoping for news. 

And then Lucy walked in.

She hugged her fathers.  “I got here as soon as I could.”

“What about your presentation?” Sherlock asked.

“I texted the lecturer and told him it would have to be rescheduled.  He agreed.”

Greg nodded.  Lucy at 20 had lost none of her ability to ensure that when she wanted something, it happened. 

With their daughter present, they started to talk and inevitably recalled events from the past.  They would argue about their memories of different times and start to laugh only to remember why they were there; ultimately, the darkness would settle over them again.  Finally, Greg and Sherlock reminisced back to when William first joined the family and the absolute panic his rapid arrival had caused them.  As Lucy felt the beginning of tears prickling the back of her eyes, the door opened once more.

This time, it was William who walked in. “Sorry it took me so long.  I had hoped to be here sooner.  There are major holdups coming into Kings Cross.  The train ended up making an unscheduled stop outside London. Many of us had to make alternative arrangements. So of course I had to be picked up by a large black car.”

He too hugged his family.  “So how is Uncle Mycroft?”

“We’re waiting to hear.  He’s still in theatre.”

“Okay.  I need some tea; does anyone else want something?”

“Tea would be nice,” Sherlock said.

“Right.  Coffee, Dad?”

“Er, no; tea, please.”

“Two teas then.  Lucy?”

“I’ll come with you; help you carry.”

Brother and sister left together.

***

“They’re drinking tea.  It must be serious,” William said.  “How much do you know?”

“Very little.  Papa won’t speculate, at least out loud; he’s even left Dad to talk to the doctor.  The good thing is they got him to hospital very quickly.”

“It’s just whether any irreparable damage was done in that time.”

“Precisely.”

They brought the drinks back to the relatives’ room to find a doctor talking to Sherlock and Greg.

Once the doctor had left, Greg turned to them.  “The operation went very well.  The next few days will show how much, if any, mobility Mycroft has lost.  Apart from being rather groggy, he doesn’t seem to have suffered any other ill effects.”

Sherlock groaned and they looked at him.

“I don’t want to lose him.”

“He’s going to be okay, love.  The doctor said so.”

“It happened to my father and he never recovered.”

“Uncle Mycroft told me that your father turned in on himself and refused to let anyone see him, because he had a slight paralysis and his brain didn’t function quite as quickly in certain matters as it had.  That won’t happen to Uncle Mycroft,” William said.

“Because we won’t let it,” Lucy added.

Sherlock continued to look unconvinced, remaining in his chair until William said, “Since the doctor has prohibited Uncle Mycroft any visitors for another couple of hours -- and since we’re all here -- why don’t you two take us out to lunch?”

The inevitable argument about where they should go ensued, until Sherlock was forced to intervene and make the decision.  He did, however, suspect that the bickering had been for his benefit, and had been designed as a distraction; in the end, he was forced to wordlessly concede that it had worked.  His family knew him too well.

Later, when Sherlock was able to visit Mycroft, he arrived laden with cards, presents and good wishes.  His brother still looked very pale, but was considerably better than he had imagined.

“It’s good to see you, brother,” Mycroft said.

“It’s good to see you, too.” 

Sherlock placed the cards and presents on the bedside table.  Mycroft tried to touch the cards, but the IV line and the monitoring equipment made it difficult for him to reach.

“Would you like me to open them for you?”

“Yes, please.”

Sherlock opened them and held them out for his brother to see the picture and read what had been written inside.  When they had finished, he noticed a tear running down Mycroft’s face.

“Is something wrong?  Shall I call a nurse?”  Sherlock was on his feet and halfway to the bell.

“No, no, I’m fine.  It’s just I hadn’t expected such lovely cards from everyone.  Please thank Lucy and William for me when you can.”

“You can thank them yourself.  They’ll be in to see you as soon as you’re allowed more visitors.”

“That’s very kind.  But I don’t deserve it.”

“Of course you do.  Without you, we would never have been a family.  When we were adopting Lucy you were the one who smoothed the way, ensuring that the paperwork went through quickly, quashing all objections.  And don’t tell me there weren’t any.”

“My name was not on any of the papers.”

“It didn’t need to be.  The initials MH were as visible as if they’d been written in indelible ink.  And William was your project from start to finish.  We owe you a lot.”

Sherlock turned away, so that his brother couldn’t see his expression.

“I do believe you are becoming sentimental in your old age, brother dear,” Mycroft said.

“In which case I think that makes two of us.”

Mycroft yawned.  “I’m sorry, Sherlock, but I don’t seem able to stay awake.”

“That’s all right.  I’ll leave you for now.  But we will be back.”

“I shall look forward to it.”

Mycroft reached out and squeezed his brother’s fingers.  Sherlock left the room, feeling much happier than when he had entered it.  He made his way to the hospital café where his family were waiting for him.

Lucy smiled at him when he found them.  “It’s going to be okay, isn’t it, Papa?”

“Yes, love,” he said, kissing her on the head.  “Everything’s going to be okay.”


	6. The Time Everyone was Happy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Someone's in hospital, but everyone is delighted. Although a few tears will be shed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Very many thanks to my beta notluvulongtime for all her hard work, encouragement and ability to find just the right word.

Greg was pacing around the living room.

“Sit down!”  Sherlock ordered.  “You’re worse than me.  And you’ll make your leg ache worse than ever.”

“I can’t ...”

Sherlock never found out what Greg couldn’t do because at that moment, his husband’s phone rang.

“What news?”

“Hello, Grandad.”

Greg was shaking so much he dropped the phone.

“Oh, brilliant.  That was really helpful,” Sherlock complained.

But it didn’t stop him grabbing his own phone as soon as it rang.

“Yes?”

“Hello, Grandpa.”

“Is she okay?”

“Yes, mother and baby are both doing well.”

Greg shouted, “Ask him what she’s had.”

“I heard that.  She’s had a boy.  You can visit in a couple of hours.”

From their behaviour, a casual observer would not have believed that they were watching a retired detective inspector and an eminent Scotland Yard consultant.  To say that they were bouncing around would have been an exaggeration, but more due to Greg’s lame leg than from any sense of decorum.

They arrived at the hospital carrying a large blue teddy and a number of balloons, the printed letters announcing “It’s a boy.”  They were early, so they prowled around restlessly outside until Sherlock received a text.

_I know you’re somewhere outside.  You can come in._

Since Mycroft had arranged for a private room - previously saying that it was the least he could do for his favourite niece - there were fewer restrictions on visiting.  Greg and Sherlock went in and kissed Lucy, before turning to the baby.

“He’s gorgeous.”

“He’s perfect.”

“Would you like to hold him?” Lucy asked.

Carefully Greg took the tiny baby in his arms and rocked him.  Tears rolled down his cheeks as he felt overcome by happiness.  He passed the baby to Sherlock, who was soon similarly affected.

“What are you two like?” Lucy said.

Her husband, Thom, took the baby whilst Greg and Sherlock composed themselves.

“What are you going to call him?” Greg asked.

“We thought about this a lot,” Thom answered.  “We hope you don’t mind; we’re going to call him Martin, after Lucy’s birth father.”

Sherlock nodded.  “I think that’s highly appropriate.”

Lucy added, “And since Thom’s brother is also called Willem, we’ve chosen William as his middle name.”

“Martin William,” said Greg.  “I like that.  Would you mind if I held him again?”

“Of course not, Dad.”

Greg took the little baby and cradled him lovingly.  “What about your parents, Thom? When will they be coming?”

“I spoke to Mum after I rang you.  She didn’t sound very coherent...”

“Like someone else,” Sherlock muttered.

Thom grinned and continued, “But I expect they’ll be here tomorrow or the next day.  It will really depend when they can get the Eurostar from Brussels.”

Greg returned the baby to his mother and they sat and chatted for a few minutes.  There was a knock on the door and William entered.

“Look who I found wandering outside,” he said.

He held the door open for Thom’s parents who entered almost shyly.

“Is it alright if we come in?” his father asked.

“Of course, of course,” Lucy answered.  “Come and meet your new grandson.”

“I thought you wouldn’t be here until tomorrow,” Thom said to his father.

“When we heard Lucy was going to hospital, your mother decided we should leave as soon as possible.  She had already packed the cases.”

“You didn’t take much persuasion,” Thom’s mother pointed out.  “Isn’t he absolutely beautiful?”

“Would you like to hold him?” Lucy asked.

“If I may.”

Whilst Thom’s mother showed his father their grandson, William went over to Lucy and gave her a kiss.

“Congratulations!”

“Thank you.  Aren’t you staying?”

“No, I’m just taking a short break.  It wouldn’t be right to be working here and not taking the time out to see my sister and my new nephew.  I bought these for him.”

“They’re adorable little outfits.  Thank you.”

“I couldn’t decide which one I liked better, so I bought both.”

William had a quick word with Greg and Sherlock and left to go back to work.

After a few more minutes Greg said, “We’ll be going now, but we’ll come and see you again tomorrow.”

They made their way down to the café and bought two cups of coffee.

“It’s funny how much better the coffee tastes when you’re happy to be here,” Greg remarked.

Shortly afterwards they were joined by Thom’s parents.

“Have you found somewhere suitable to stay?” Greg asked.

“Oh yes; your brother very kindly offered to have us,” Thom’s dad said, addressing Sherlock. 

“We’re very grateful,” his mother added.  “It meant we didn’t have to worry about making a last minute hotel reservation.”

“We were thinking we should do something to celebrate -” Sherlock said.

Greg glanced across at him, puzzled because nothing had been mentioned.  The look he received in return said, ‘well, you were thinking that!’

“- and wondered if you would like to join us for dinner?”

“That would be lovely, thank you.”

“Excellent.  I shall make the reservation.”

***

That evening they met at Sherlock and Greg’s favourite Italian restaurant.  Sherlock had booked a table for six and shortly afterwards, they were joined by William and Mycroft.

“We visited the hospital on the way here,” William said.

“I took a few pictures of Martin whilst we were there,” Mycroft added.  “If anyone would like to see them?”

The pictures were duly passed around and everyone agreed, unsurprisingly, that he was the most adorable grandson ever.

Later, Greg and Sherlock walked back through the park to their flat.

“How does it feel to finally achieve a goal?” Sherlock suddenly asked.

“What?”

“You were thinking back twenty-four years, when you envied the grandfathers who had brought their grandchildren to feed the ducks.  You thought it was something that you would never do.  Yet, in a few weeks time, you’ll be the one who others envy.”

“How do you know that?”

“You know my methods.”

“Right.  So, from the way I’m walking ...  No, wait a minute.  It’s because you were thinking the same thing!”

 


End file.
